


The Man I Pretend to Be

by Daisy_Rivers



Series: Song on My Tongue [3]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda (Broadway Cast) RPF
Genre: Drama, F/M, Jealousy, Massage, Multi, Semi-Public Sex, Writing, auditions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-11-12 05:53:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18005087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daisy_Rivers/pseuds/Daisy_Rivers
Summary: While you're in LA for an audition, Rafael studies massage via YouTube videos. A visitor from London brings emotional drama to Lin and Pippa's relationship. Jasmine threatens multiple homicide, but she probably doesn't mean it.





	The Man I Pretend to Be

The audition in LA goes well, really well, and they ask if you can stay over another day to read with the actor who would be playing your husband in the show.

“I thought my husband was supposed to be missing,” you say.

Amy, one of the production assistants, nods. “Right, he is, but there are flashback scenes.”

You stay over and the next day you read with Brian, who seems like a good guy. Nothing is decided, though, so you head back to New York with a promise that they’ll let you know. The flight is delayed because of some mechanical problem, and after waiting an hour, you call Rafa to let him know.

“You wouldn’t want to fly if there’s something wrong with the plane,” he reminds you sensibly.

“No, of course not, I’m just tired, and I want to get home.”

An hour and a half later, they announce that the flight is cancelled, and people start lining up at the desk to rebook.

“It doesn’t look like we can get you on a flight to New York tonight,” the airline agent says. She looks back at her computer screen. “There’s a flight to Chicago in about an hour, though, and then you can fly from Chicago to New York in the morning.”

It’s not ideal, but it’s better than being stuck at LAX all night, and they’re offering you a hotel voucher in Chicago. The flight to Chicago is miserable; you’re in a middle seat, and there’s turbulence, which you’re always sure is going to crash the plane, no matter how reassuring the pilot tries to be on the PA. By the time you get to your hotel, it’s after eleven, and you’re exhausted from rattling around the skies for four hours.

Rafael texts you early in the morning. _Why don’t you come straight to my apartment? I’ll have lunch ready here, and you can relax._

 _That sounds great,_ you text back. You know exactly what he means by _relax_.

 _Mía misses you too,_ he adds, followed by a puppy emoji and a string of hearts.

_XOXOXO to Mía_

_How about me?_

You laugh as you type, _Maybe_. As if he doesn’t know.

The flight to LaGuardia is only slightly better than the flight from LA was, but at least you get an aisle seat. You’re happy when your Uber driver pulls up, but that quickly changes when he wants to talk about the government’s secret mission to colonize Mars, which, he claims, has been the plan to deal with climate change all along. “Forget all this renewable energy bullshit,” he says. “They’re already building the ship.”

You mumble, “Hm,” and he keeps talking. As he pulls up in front of Rafael’s building, he’s discussing the qualifications that the Mars colonists will have to have. “They’re all gonna have to be college graduates, but that’s short-sighted, right? I mean, there’s gonna be plumbing on Mars, isn’t there?”

You get out of the car with a sigh of relief, and drag your bag into the elevator and up to the fifth floor. Rafa meets you at the door and pulls you in for a kiss. “How was your flight back?” he asks as he helps you off with your coat.

“Flight was okay, Uber driver was nuts.” You stop and reflect for a minute. “Do you think we’d qualify to be part of the first colony on Mars?”

“Oh, one of _those_ Uber drivers,” Rafa says with perfect understanding. He takes your hand and kisses your fingers. “Come on, I made you tortellini with pesto.”

“You made it?”

He shrugs. “Figuratively speaking. I ordered it from Vincenzo’s, but I definitely heated it up.”

Vincenzo’s pasta is one of your favorite meals, and it’s good to sit down and enjoy it with Rafael. “How’s _Centaur_ coming?” you ask.

“Okay,” he responds noncommittally. “I’m still having trouble with the beginning of Act Two.”

You haven’t seen the script, so you can’t really comment. You asked once if you could read it, but Rafa said he’d rather wait till it was further along. You know he’s shared it with both Daveed and Lin, and it bothers you a little that he’s still keeping it from you, but you try not to show it. After all, you and Rafa aren’t actually in what you’d call a relationship. You’re just dating … or something.

You finish lunch and Rafa stands up. “C’mere,” he says, holding out his hand. “I missed you, so I got you some things.” He leads you by the hand to the bathroom.

On the counter you find a collection of luxury bath products in your favorite lavender scent: bubble bath, soap, body lotion, and after-bath powder with an actual feather puff. Hanging on the bathroom door hook is a velvety-soft new white robe.

You turn to him, touched by his thoughtfulness. “You’re so sweet. A bubble bath sounds like just what I need right now.”

He leans over the tub and turns on the hot water to fill it. “Why don’t you take your bubble bath while I clean up the kitchen? Then when you’re done, I can help you put on the body lotion.”

You smile at him. “That sounds very … relaxing.”

“I watched some videos on YouTube,” he says, looking pleased with himself. “On how to give a massage.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I mean, I may not be at professional skill level yet, but I bet I can work some of the tightness out of your muscles.”

“That would be great.”

He puts his arms around you, and you lean in. “You’re the best. Really.”

He gives you a quick kiss. “You relax. Call me when you’re done.”

You soak in the lavender-scented bubbled until your fingers get wrinkly, and then dry yourself on a fluffy towel and wrap yourself in the new robe. You open the bathroom door to silence. “Rafa?” you call tentatively. “Hey, Rafael?”

“In here,” he responds from the bedroom. Oh. Of course. “Don’t forget to bring the lotion,” he reminds you.

He’s lying on the bed wearing nothing but boxers, his hands behind his head. He’s slim but his muscles are defined, with his collarbones cutting in at sharp angles from his shoulders. You catch your breath.

“Well, hello,” you say.

He lifts his chin. “Did you bring the lotion?”

You hold it out to show him.

He smiles up at you, his eyes soft. “Come on and lie down.”

You lie next to him, and he props himself up on his elbow. “Did you enjoy your bubble bath?” he asks.

“Very much.”

“Did it help with the stress?”

“It did.”

“Do you think I could help you feel even more relaxed?”

“I’m sure you could.”

He reaches over and unties the belt of your robe. “You’re going to have to take this off.”

You slip out of the robe and he leans over, traces the outline of your breast with one finger, lightly brushes the nipple. “Mm,” he murmurs, then sighs. “Turn over so I can rub your back.”

You roll over to your stomach and rest your head on your folded arms, looking at him. He smiles at you. “You’re so pretty,” he says. He gets up on his knees and straddles you so that you can’t see him, but you’re even more aware of him. He pours some lotion on your back, and it feels cold. You shiver, and then you feel his warm hands as he spreads the lotion with long, slow strokes. He adds a little more, and begins to rub your shoulders.

“That feels good,” you tell him, sighing.

“You’re a little tense, babe.” His thumbs make circles, pressing into the muscles at the base of your neck. It feels really good, and you let out a little whimper. “Okay?” he asks. “Tell me if it’s too much pressure.”

“No, no,” you manage to say. “It’s good. It’s really good.”

He gives a satisfied hum, and his hands move down a little lower, working the muscles around your shoulder blades. You wonder how many YouTube videos on massage he had time to watch, because he seems to have paid attention. Between the warm bubble bath and his hands on you, you’re feeling calm and peaceful. The lavender scent of the lotion is helping to remove any feeling of stress. You could almost be getting sleepy, if it weren’t for the fact that Rafael is on his knees right over your ass, and every time he leans forward to work his hands into your muscles, he rubs against you.

He does it now, and brings his mouth down close to your ear. “Does it feel good, babe?”

“Yeah, it’s amazing.”

He keeps his head down, nuzzles into your neck. “You smell so _good_.”

“Mm, thank you,” you murmur.

He adjusts his position, so his hands are at your waist, working on your lower back. “Does this help work out that tension?”

“Yeah, it does.”

His hands slide down. “You’re so soft and warm.”

He drops a kiss on your shoulder, and you sigh. “That’s because you got me all these nice things to help me relax.”

“I want to help you get all the stress out, just feel completely calm and peaceful, like you’re floating.”

You smile. “It’s working.”

His hands are on your ass now, and he’s massaging the muscles thoroughly, something that’s never happened when you’ve had a massage from a therapist. Not that you’d want it under those circumstances, but it does feel good now. You can’t help but let out a little moan.

“You like that?” he asks.

“Yeah, it’s … um … my massage therapist doesn’t do any work there.”

He makes a _tsk_ sound with his tongue. “How negligent of her.” His hands move to your thighs and he works his thumbs between your legs. “Does your therapist work on these muscles here?”

It’s a little hard to talk. “Uh … no, I think she’d lose her license.”

“And yet, it can really help you relax …” You try to turn over to face him, but he puts his hand on your shoulder. “I haven’t finished yet.”

“Rafa …”

“Hmm?”

“What else are you going to do?”

“Well…” His hands move down the backs of your legs and you give a little whimper of disappointment. “According to the video instruction series on YouTube, it’s really important to massage the feet for complete relaxation.”

“You don’t think I’m completely relaxed yet?”

“No, not quite. Just a little bit more.” He starts working on your feet, and _shit,_ he’s good at this. “This pressure point here,” he continues in his professorial voice, “helps to relax the shoulder muscles.” Damn if he isn’t right. The bed is starting to feel like a lavender-scented cloud that you’re floating on. He keeps talking softly. “That’s it, baby, just let go of all that stress.”

By the time he finishes your feet, you feel boneless, all the tension gone from your body. He stretches out next to you on the bed. “Now you’re relaxed,” he says with satisfaction, proud of a job well done.

His face is only inches from yours, and you smile at him. “Mm-hmm, I am. Now what?”

His green eyes flash sparks. “Now I’m going to fuck you senseless.”

Arousal sweeps over you in a wave of heat, leaving you gasping. It’s only then that you realize that while the last hour has been relaxing, it’s also left you sensitive to every touch, and the lack of tension has made your body more responsive. Rafael pulls you close, and you’ve never wanted him more. He pushes your legs apart and goes down on you, and you twist your hands in his hair. His tongue is soft and demanding at the same time, in you, on you, relentless, and already it’s almost too much. Every nerve in you is coiled like a spring. You’re barely aware that you’re making noises of some sort, not words – you can’t put any words together. You’re holding on to Rafael’s thick hair as if it’s a lifeline, and then with one more stroke, he pushes you over the edge, and you’re falling and soaring. He pulls back, puts his hand on you to take you through it as he brings his mouth to yours. You taste the salt on his tongue as you wrap your legs around him, still trembling, your heart pounding.

You finally let go of his hair, wondering how much you hurt him, while he gently strokes your back and murmurs, “Yeah, that’s my girl, that was good, you’re so pretty when you come.”

“Oh _, God,_ Rafa,” you finally say when you can breathe normally again. You’re still pressed tight against him and your legs are tangled with his.

“It was good, yeah?”

“I can’t … it was amazing.”

“It’s always better when you’re relaxed.”

You think about what a nightly “relaxation” session might be like and your hips jerk involuntarily.

His eyebrow goes up. “Oh, you like thinking about that?”

“I don’t know if I could survive that very often.”

“We can find out.”

That makes you tremble again, and he laughs out loud, and then runs his teeth along your throat. “I’m gonna fuck you now,” he whispers against your skin, and you are right back where you were, your desire for him flashing like flame.

You look up into his beautiful eyes and say, “Fuck me hard” and roll your hips up for him. He slides in all the way with one thrust, pulls back, does it again, and then again. “More,” you tell him. “Harder.”

He stretches you until you feel like you’re going to split in half, and it’s the best thing you’ve ever felt. You lick your fingers and put them on your clit, and he gasps as he watches you, watches your fingers circle as he slides into you harder and faster. You clench around him, tighter and tighter, and then he closes his eyes and throws his head back. You feel the spasms start as he yells, “Oh, fuck, _fuck,_ yeah, God, yeah!” Your body holds him inside you as long as it can, and then afterward, you lie curled against him while he sits up and reaches for his cigarettes. You hear the click of his lighter and the deep inhale. He smokes in silence, and you are content to listen to his heartbeat.

He finishes his cigarette and pulls you up to sit next to him. You put your head on his shoulder, and he plays with your hair. “There’s nothing better than a girl who can fuck my brains out,” he says.

You choke off a laugh. “Glad you appreciate my talents.” You’re not lying, but you wonder if that’s the only quality he sees in you. It’s okay, you haven’t made any commitments or anything, but it would be nice if he appreciated your mind or your personality or something. He must find you reasonably attractive; he’s willing to be seen with you in public.

You’re thinking of getting up when Rafa’s phone rings. He picks it up. “Uh-oh,” he says when he sees the screen.

You frown. “What?”

“It’s Pippa. She hasn’t called me since … well, not for a while.” He hits the _accept_ button. “Hey, Pip, what’s …” He doesn’t get a chance to finish his sentence because there is hysterical sobbing that you can hear from a foot away. Rafa rolls his eyes and switches to speaker. “Pippa,” he says gently, “Pippa, calm down, honey, talk to me …”

There is a stream of mumbled words, of which you make out only “fucking blond bitch.” Jasmine said that Pippa and Lin’s last big public fight had been about a girl he met in England. You wonder if she’s a blond.

Rafael is staring at the ceiling, occasionally murmuring, “Mm-hm,” as Pippa continues to ramble. He holds the phone away for a few seconds and tells you, “She’s drunk.”

“No shit,” you respond, and he chokes back a laugh.

Pippa says something that ends in “come over?”

“No, I can’t,” Rafa responds kindly but firmly. She sobs some more, and he repeats it. “I really can’t.”

You feel bad for Pippa, but drama is part of her everyday life. “Where’s Lin?” you ask Rafael, and he shrugs. You get your phone and call Jasmine, and she picks up immediately. “Hey, do you know where Lin is?”

To your surprise, she responds, “Oh, Jesus fucking _Christ!_ ”

“Jazz, what’s wrong?”

“He’s _here,_ that’s what’s wrong, and my wonderful fiancé thinks we need to fucking _help_ him in his fucking hour of _need_ , and I’m going to kill both of them any minute now.”

You try not to laugh. “Okay, I’m at Rafa’s, and Pippa’s crying her eyes out on the phone to him, so … look, don’t kill them yet.”

Rafa looks at you in some alarm.

“Emily!” Jasmine says in a voice of loathing.

“Who?” you ask.

“The English girl. She flew in yesterday to film something here, and Lin took her out to lunch.”

“Okay, but that’s not … I mean, they’re friends, right, she just flew across the ocean, why wouldn’t he?”

“Fucking YouTube!” Jasmine spits out. She’s apparently so angry she can’t speak in complete sentences.

“What’s on YouTube?”

“Lin feeling up Emily.”

“Oh, shit, no!”

A few seconds later, your phone dings for a text, and you watch the video Jasmine has sent. It’s certainly Lin, seated in a round restaurant booth upholstered in pale blue. A very attractive blond is next to him, and they appear to be deep in conversation. So far, so good, but it doesn’t take long before Lin’s arm is around her and his hand moves up from her waist. You know Lin; he’s outrageous, and he’ll try anything, but he’ll also always accept a _no._

She doesn’t say no. In fact, she puts her hand over his and guides it up to her breast. You turn your phone so Rafa can see it.

“Oh, fuck,” he says. He still can’t get a word in edgewise with Pippa.

You hear giggles from the video. Whoever took it is enjoying the scene. A faint voice in the background says “Lin-Manuel Miranda?” Well, that’s helpful, just in case any viewers don’t recognize him. Emily’s hands are under the table and Lin is leaning back with his eyes closed. A different voice is heard on the video as a middle-aged woman strides into view. “There are children in here!” she snaps. “My husband is speaking to the manager now!”

Lin turns on the famous charm full blast, but for once it gets him nowhere. Within seconds the woman’s husband and the manager arrive, and Lin and the blond exit. The video switches to the face of an excited teenage girl who says, “And that’s what was happening today at Ella’s.”

Ella’s is a popular restaurant in the theater district. You haven’t been there for a while, but every time you have in the past, it’s been crowded. Great. You switch back to Jasmine.

“He’s crazy,” you say. “I mean, I know he’s a genius and all that, but he’s got to have some weird mental thing going on.”

“Yeah, he does,” Jasmine agrees. “He’s supposed to take meds …”

“Really?”

“Never mind that now, Y/N,” Jasmine continues in exasperation. “Pippa won’t talk to him, and he’s crying in our living room.”

“Oh, my God, I’m back in junior high!” You look at Rafa. “Do you think Pippa would talk to him?” you ask.

He shrugs. “Hey, Pip … no, listen to me. Come on, just take a breath. If Lin comes to your place, will you talk to him?” He goes out on a limb. “I think he wants to apologize.”

You have an idea. “Hey, Jazz, do you have Groff’s number?”

“Um, maybe? I’m sure Anthony does, anyway.”

“How about if Groff picks Lin up and takes him to Pippa’s, and they can all work it out?”

She thinks about it. “Like Groff can referee or something?”

“That wasn’t exactly what I had in mind …”

“Oh,” she says. “ _Oh._ You know, that might be a great plan. Hang on.”

You hear her ask Anthony for Groff’s number, and she says, “Shut up, Lin” about five times, but then she returns to talk to you. “Okay, Ant’s calling Groff, and he thinks Groff will be good with it. He says he’s done it before? Like – I don’t know, these people make me tired.” You hear her say something else to Anthony, then, “Tell Rafa to tell Pippa that Groff’s picking Lin up here, and they’re both on their way.”

“Oh, good, another crisis averted,” you say.

“Probably not. I bet it’s gonna be on the _Today Show_ or something, since everybody knows Lin from _The Little Mermaid_. I can hear it now: _Is your child’s favorite actor a good role model?_ Oh, well, we did what we could. You and Rafa get a good night’s sleep while I kill Anthony with the bread knife. I’m kidding, _I’m kidding_.” She hangs up.

Rafael has conveyed the plan to Pippa, who is tearfully grateful. The phone is still on speaker, so you hear her babbling. “You’re such a good friend. Thank you for being so nice.”

“No problem,” he responds. “Anyway, it was Y/N’s idea. She thinks it will be good for all of you to have a chance to talk it out.”

“She’s so sweet,” Pippa continues. “You be nice to her, Rafa. Don’t just dump her like you did me. She deserves better.”

Rafa smacks himself in the forehead. “Thanks for the advice,” he says, and hangs up. He looks at you and takes a breath. “Listen, I want to tell you about it.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from Rafael's poem "Infidels."


End file.
